The Desire for Neutral
I want to fall in love with a colour like Maggie Nelson does with blue.
The hue hinges on sacred, untouchable abstractions like feelings
Even love making is intangible.
To touch something is already an elegy
A loss of the ethereal and the ephemeral
The tragic evaporation of effervescence in the corporeal
brutal and macabre
The morbid body reduces to a signifier
signifying no more than shapes and sizes
sex already stolen in the mind without premonition
our imagery readapted, somewhere,
it became yours to colonize
the most original sin plays the temptress
but we have all forgotten the negative spaces
in between the sexualized and the meaningless.
and from a while back:
The moments when the mind
Time will always be passing
Years will not cease to be fleeting
and we, friends, will circle back to the same
feeling: the years are going by
The hearts cannot help but sunder slightly.
What is this trap of a life?
to have, to meet, to spend,
to remember, only
to return to the future, where we ask ourselves:
where has the time gone?
will only take its comfortable place
when we revise the sentimental evaluation of
though scorchingly barren, it will press on.
Why chase after it in hopes of an answer,
To withhold an honest presence
in the face of an unforgiving soldier,
as if in insane vengeance—killing,
not ever halting—
to be kind, balanced, and transient in
and our disagreement,
comes to be our best bet
in rejoicing rather than mourning
the innocent, impartial, and eternally